


D is for Ducks and Deception

by OrionLady



Series: The ABCs of Family [4]
Category: National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby's first word!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Questionable stress snacking choices, Sadusky wears a hat because it's me and I had to, Swimming, Trauma, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionLady/pseuds/OrionLady
Summary: “Sometimes family means helping someone even when they don’t want it.” Peter swallows down that burning sensation when it threatens to make a reappearance. “Sometimes the best way to save someone is to show them they need saving at all.”After an incident with a sick Riley and Ben, Abigail asks Peter for help. In hatching up a plot, they begin to realize there might be more to Ben’s water related trauma than they thought.
Relationships: Benjamin Gates & Riley Poole
Series: The ABCs of Family [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643848
Comments: 22
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thank you to everyone who's reading along with the series. :)
> 
> This whole subplot/rabbit trail off the main series is based on that split second, blink-or-you’ll-miss-it moment in the second film where Riley dives down to pull Ben free of the door. Then, when he comes up spitting and coughing all over the place, Ben flings an arm across his chest. That instinctive moment is never discussed again but it got me thinking…

“I seize upon that, for it is at least something to hold onto. This man is bound up with my life, therefore I must do everything, promise everything, in order to save myself.”

~ Erich Maria Remarque, _All Quiet on the Western Front_

“This is, easily, the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

Ben folds his arms in a perfect mirror of Riley. “Don’t forget about that time she thought working with Ian was a good idea.”

“Nope.” Riley shakes his head. “This tops that. I can’t _believe_ you tricked us into coming here.”

Neither can Sadusky, but he has the good sense to stay silent. They’ve noticed him, of course, walking towards them in a trim panama hat, board shorts, and his usual collared shirt, but he doesn’t make a sound in his approach to Abigail’s beach chair, where she lounges with Ellie on her chest. The seven month old spots Peter and clams a wave with the hand not in her mouth.

Chuckling, he waves back. He’ll never tire of the greeting for her ‘Papa Peter.’

Because Riley has gone shirtless on this scorching, cloudless July afternoon, his bullet scar is on display in all its grotesque glory, a mangled wad of scrambled egg tissue. It strains when he tenses at the look on Abigail’s face.

Determination.

Nobody wins when she looks like that.

Dive trained as he is, Ben is wearing a rash guard shirt and pool shorts, though he too stands marbleized like a shark might jump out of the lake water at any minute. His eyes narrow at Abigail.

“Well played,” he says.

Abigail nods in acquiescence of the victory.

Ben sniffs. “But we’re still not getting in.”

“Right.” Riley points at his friend. “What he said.”

“You told us this was a surprise ‘stay-cation,’ you know, because we’ve been so stressed and busy lately.” Ben hasn’t even finished this protest before his frown reaches epic depths.

“And it is.” Abigail gestures to a group of children playing a ways down the man-made beach, burying their cackling friend up to his shoulders in a mound of sand. “I get to sun bathe—”

Riley flings up a spray of powder with his foot. “I thought _we_ were here to sun bathe.”

“No.” Abigail lowers her sunglasses to stare them head on with intense eyes. “ _You_ are going swimming.”

“But—”

“Nope!” She leans back, snapping open a magazine to read over Ellie’s head. “I refuse to move from this spot until you boys take a dip in the water.”

Riley splutters a few moments longer but Ben has a worried look on his face now. Because he knows he’s lost. They knew they lost ages ago, evidenced by the fact that they changed once they got here.

Though Peter is late and can’t know for sure, he has a feeling they thought this would be a sand-only outing.

Water on the other hand…

Ben turns his frustration onto Sadusky. “Let me guess—she strong armed you into this too.”

“As a matter of fact…” Peter straightens his shoulders and promptly toes off his sandals. “It was my idea.”

Riley and Ben’s jaws drop.

* * *

_Two weeks earlier…_

You’d think, after having been shot at so many times he can’t even remember them all and finding a priceless American document after it was stolen and fielding the investigation of a kidnapped president, that nothing could possibly render surprise in him anymore.

You’d be wrong.

Sadusky finds himself stunned at just how wrong he is.

The door to the Gates house has been left ajar, just a few inches of opening visible, and Peter reaches for a gun that isn’t there. Because it’s his day off—a Saturday—and he was personally invited here.

Right.

“Abigail?” His other hand tightens around a reusable grocery bag. “Anybody home?”

The house is dim, though the curtains aren’t drawn quite far enough to shut out petals of sunlight blossoming over the floor. Peter squints, following these strategically shut windows to the living room. Riley is curled up on the couch and Ben has stretched out on a battered Lazy boy recliner drawn close to him.

Both dead to the world.

Someone has thrown a comforter over Riley at some point, probably Ben, judging by how it’s tucked in around the hacker’s frame and even under his feet. They don’t stir at the sound of Sadusky’s steps or calls. Even the TV is off and Riley’s face puts the white comforter cover to shame, coupled with dark circles under his eyes.

_Is this why Abigail called me? Because he’s sick—?_

“Peter!” Abigail comes flurrying in, hand buried in the lapel of Sadusky’s coat, before he takes the next breath. “We can’t wake them up!”

Despite her careful whisper, her grip is like reinforced iron. Flustered, she tugs him out of the living room, through the entryway, and straight on out the door. Her hand smooths through a loose ponytail, coming out on one side, and she blows out a rushed breath while shutting the door.

“Sorry about that.” She returns to her usual grace and decorum through clumsy starts and stops, like her mind is so filled up that it has no room for such things. “Did you bring the pickles?”

“I did.” Sadusky recovers from the episode and sits on the top step of the front stoop. “Though I thought pregnancy cravings came _before_ the baby.”

“This is an emergency snack situation.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Abigail sees the grocery bag and sits beside him, admiring the homemade dill pickles, courtesy of a secretary in their Bureau office. “Danke sehr, Peter. I hope it wasn’t too much of an imposition.”

Peter shrugs. “It’s my day off and my daughter is at a conference, so I was already free with little to do when you called this ‘crisis meeting.’ But I have to ask… _what_ is going on?”

In Abigail’s other hand she carries a container of natural creamy peanut butter. Popping the cap off, she wastes no time in opening the jar of pickles and dipping one in. It crunches between Abigail’s teeth and she closes her eyes with a rapturous expression.

Sadusky shows no judgement or skepticism on his face, thanks to years of listening to criminals behind two way glass. “Does that actually taste good?”

Abigail remembers to swallow before opening her mouth. “People don’t know what they’re missing. Peanut butter and pickles are the best. Do you want to try one?”

Peter doesn’t, but he’s also dying with the curiosity of it all. “Why not?”

Abigail dips a smaller one in and hands it to Sadusky, where it promptly oozes down his fingers. He holds it up like a wine glass. “To stress snacking.”

“I’ll toast to that.” Abigail taps it with her own and watches while Peter takes his first bite. “What do you think?”

The salty crunch and oak, nutty flavours rumble around on his tongue, like prisoners shackled together. It’s at once one of the most bizarre things Peter has ever eaten and so surprising that it can’t taste anything but delicious.

His astonishment must show for Abigail laughs. “Told you. I can’t get Ben to eat it, though I think I’ve convinced Riley—who will eat just about anything for sake of not wasting it—that it’s a delicacy.”

Sadusky watches Abigail scarf down another pickle in just four chomping bites. Each finger is licked clean and she doesn’t look one iota self conscious about it. He says nothing, by now much used to being in the dark when it comes to this family. 

After a few more minutes, Abigail gets her frazzled breathing under control enough to lean back. She gazes out over the lawn, her home-tended flowerbeds and a strange, lopsided birdhouse nailed on the nearest apple tree that looks gauche enough to be Riley’s handiwork. A child sized Micky Mouse ball has rolled underneath it, clearly from an earlier playtime. 

“Ellie is at Emily and Patrick’s house,” say Abigail, reading his thoughts. “Since Riley has a stomach bug.”

Peter sits straighter, legs tensed in preparation of marching right back inside. “Is he alright? Because he looked miserable.”

Shaking her head, Abigail smiles. “He’s fine now. We got some antibiotics and his fever broke last night. We’re out of the woods, though he’ll be exhausted for a while yet—along with Ben. He’s better than a nurse, that one. Ellie is whining for them both.”

“I hear there’s a competition going for whose name she’ll say first.”

Abigail groans, slippered toes wiggling, but she ends it with a laugh. “Don’t remind me. We’ve only got a few months to go before that milestone and it’s fuelling their frantic baby conversations at the dinner table.”

Seeing Sadusky’s narrowed eyes, Abigail gives his arm a quick rub. “Peter, Riley moved in ages ago, after the shooting. Heaven knows the house is big enough and has so many rooms that you’d barely know he’s here. He’s a courteous tenant and he bakes better than Ben and I put together.”

Sadusky pats her hand and together they watch a robin enter the birdhouse, worm squirming from his beak. The knowledge that Riley doesn’t live in his old apartment, sketchy neighbourhood and all, actually floods Peter with immense relief. He finds himself leaning back too. 

He’s spent a night or two awake, worrying about them all. Every time he thinks he’s found a cool distance or a mental drawer to stuff them in, some new fact or possibility for danger comes creeping into the recesses of his mind and he’ll lie there, heart pounding. Usually a morning call from Ben or Emily visiting with yet _another_ book for him to read—she’s on a quest to become a one woman book club—helps him rest, a temporary fix. 

Until something like this happens. It’s a private war, one he never expected and one whose pieces he can’t quite fit smoothly together. The safety of these people and potential lack thereof haunts him. 

“So you didn’t call me because anybody’s deathly ill?” he asks, to slough that thought away. 

Abigail picks at her nails, glancing at a funny stain on her sweatpants—the garment already an odd sight on the normally sharp woman. “No, not exactly. Peter…do you have any experience with triggers?”

Automatically, Sadusky’s brain flashes to guns before he clues in. “What, as in trauma flashbacks? Sensations that cause panic?”

Abigail nods and suddenly her eyes fill with a fat line of tears. Sucking in a jilted breath, Peter fishes in his pocket for a handkerchief, a brand new monogrammed one he hasn’t used yet. 

She huffs while wiping her nose with it. “Thank you.”

Her lips tremble for a hot second, and then she firms them with a serrated, agonized flicker in her eyes. A few tears still manage to escape. She wipes these away too, clutching at Peter’s hand. Sadusky hesitates only a moment before smoothing his thumb over her pearl-like knuckles. 

“To be honest,” he begins, in that low tone reserved for terrorized victims of a crime, “I’m shocked you haven’t struggled with more issues related to how much you’ve all lived through, the guns and car chases and being held hostage, to name just a few.”

But Abigail shakes her head again with a rueful look, heightened by the smudged mascara. “Believe me: I’ve had more than my share of therapy and make it a point to work through anything and everything that might be a problem. I was raised in a house where such things were talked about freely and needing help was nothing to be ashamed of.”

Not Abigail, then. Sadusky runs the gamut in his mind, of how a flu could possibly tie into traumatic memories. “Is this about seeing Riley sick? Does his lethargy remind Ben of when he was shot?”

There’s a strange pause while Abigail swallows. “It’s both of them.”

“I’m guessing neither was raised in such a mentally healthy environment.”

Abigail just snorts bitterly. Sadusky struggles with a familiar, vicious lurch of helplessness, and he realizes that in his fear over their safety he has neglected to consider the danger that might lurk purely in their memories. Really, they should have seen this coming months ago. 

“I just don’t know what to do.” Abigail twists the handkerchief between her thumbs. “After yesterday, I called you, because I figured if anybody had experience with this…”

Peter latches onto the key point at once. “What happened yesterday?”

“Early yesterday morning, Riley’s fever—and Ben’s, as he’s a touch sick too but won’t admit it—spiked without warning. It was well into the dangerous zone and we knew he wouldn’t make it to the ER in time, so I ran him a tepid bath in my soaker tub upstairs.”

“The water,” says Sadusky, understanding before she even finishes. 

Abigail nods. “He was _boiling_ , Peter. I could have cooked an egg on his forehead and his breathing was laboured. He…he could barely stand up. We were ready to drop him in, T-shirt, pajamas, and all.”

Two tears chase each other, one after the other, down Abigail’s cheeks before she can stop them. Sadusky massages at her fingers once and they relax their grip on his. 

“It’s silly,” she whispers. 

“It’s not silly, not at all.” Peter slants slightly to better look her in the eye. “If it’s causing this kind of strain on them, then it needs to be addressed. The sooner the better. I just…I wished you’d called me then, instead of just now. I’d have been happy to help.”

Her lips curve down. “We didn’t even get him into the bathroom, Peter. Ben heard the running water and balked. He was _shaking_ , so much, and I couldn’t coax him within five feet of the door.”

Peter whispers too. “I’m so sorry. So sorry that happened and you had to work through it by yourself.”

“I wasn’t strong enough to carry Riley without Ben, not to mention that Riley fed off the panic, thrashing.” Abigail blows her nose, eyes roiling with remembered pain and pinched at the edges. “I ended up having to use a sponge instead, right there in the hallway. He could have died, but luckily his fever went down enough to move him.” 

Peter closes his eyes, trying to imagine the scene. Ben and his track record with running water already being as shoddy as it is, he knows Riley is sensitive to when his friend struggles. Feverish, incapacitated, he can read between the lines of Abigail’s story to the alarm the young man must have felt. Perhaps confused about where he was, he would have been scared of the water too. 

Again, his mind drifts to how they seemed after the Cibola fiasco, watching them all emerge from the tunnel. Riley’s choke hold on the back of Ben’s jacket. The way they all trembled and refused to let each other out of sight. The mix of tears on water—and the subsequent inability to tell the difference. 

Sadusky’s eyes pop open with sudden, comforting realization.

“I knew an agent once who got chased by a dog while out on the job. Just a routine call. It wasn’t even a big dog, an English Terrier that was nearly blind and half crazed with mistreatment.”

Abigail eyes him with a counterweight ballast of trust. “What happened to the agent?”

Sadusky’s brows lift. “He was fine—jumped a fence before the dog could so much as lick at him. But for months after that, just the barking of a dog would leave him quaking and breaking down in the office bathroom.”

Abigail doesn’t berate this fear or belittle how it isn’t as bad as a ‘some people’ have it. She just releases the twist in her fingers and asks, “Did he make it?” 

The question might seem a strange one to anyone listening. But Peter understands, especially after years of feeling what she is right now. “Yes, he did. His team came alongside of him and supported him through that pain, much as he tried to hide it. That rookie agent overcame the fear, with their help and a therapist.”

“What did they do? How did the team help?”

“Oh.” Sadusky blinks fast. “Well…they took him to an animal shelter, if you can believe that.” 

“An animal shelter?” Abigail’s eyes cloud before she starts to nod. “They were trying to acclimatize him to the stimulus that caused his fear in the first place.”

“Exactly.” Sadusky can’t help but smile at the memory of five agents holding out that tiny chocolate Labrador puppy. “His therapist recommended immersion based on the type of symptoms he was displaying and it worked. Took about two months of visiting the animal shelter, every day after shift, but it worked.”

A slurred moment of quiet follows, in which Peter can almost sense Abigail’s spirit and mind working in tandem, trying to mitigate her own fear far away from the olive branch of hope he is offering through this story. Trying to keep it untainted. Ben and Riley can learn what it means to be okay again, but only if they face it, only if they understand that they won’t be reproached for suffering in the first place. 

A brand new thought strikes Sadusky, making it unique from his own experiences. “Have Ben and Riley at least talked about it with each other?”

Abigail’s lips coil to one side, then smooth. “Very few trauma textbooks cover that, when two people have been through the exact same thing. A little, I think, based on some nightmares Ben has, when he comes and sits on the floor beside Riley’s bed.”

“But it doesn’t affect their daily life otherwise?”

Rather than answering this right away, Abigail tilts her head with a scrunched expression. “Actually…now that you mention it, yes. They’re fine with things like the kitchen sink tap or rain, obviously, but something about the sound of gushing water paralyzes them. Ben…he goes downstairs whenever I run a bath and he never helps with Ellie in that regard. I never noticed until you pointed it out.”

Peter knows, by some external wisdom and detached understanding of the situation, that this is his cue for a moment of pride. To take satisfaction in the way his presence has helped even in this small way.

But in reality, all Sadusky feels is that the mystery surrounding his life sunk just that little bit deeper. He wants to ask the ever-nattering, profound question, like he has from the very minute Abigail hugged him in that hospital room over a year ago, the one that haunts him in the wee hours of the morning with sharpened edges that he is slowly falling upon:

Why— _why_ do they all care so much what he thinks? Why did Riley show up on his doorstep instead of going home that night? Why is his presence so important to them? Why does Ben insist on telling Ellie that he is Papa Peter?

 _Why_? Whywhywhywhy—

“Peter? Are you okay?” 

Sadusky comes back to the present with a start. “Sorry about that. I was just…mulling over what you told me.”

“I know it’s your day off and you must be tired.” Abigail looks worried, her hand moving up to his bicep. “Thank you for coming all the way here. I think…I think I can handle it and your advice has been an incredible comfort.”

Her efforts to let him off the hook, on any other day, would be sweet. Endearing. One of those ‘oh _you_ ’ moments that makes human beings see the best in each other. 

Not this time. 

This time a searing lick of flame chars the back of Peter’s throat and sinuses. He actually stops breathing, so overwhelmed by the sensation, the sudden burn of heat, that he forgets to inhale. It clogs his throat, makes everything taste ashy. He is a composed man by nature, fluid in will and able to change plans on the fly because the insanity of his job necessitates it sometimes. 

So it takes him a beat longer than it should to realize that he is fighting tears. That he is trying—very hard—not to cry.

“It isn’t a duty,” he whispers, because if he talks any louder he’ll need the handkerchief back. “You are _never_ an obligation, Abigail. None of you. It’s my pleasure and I only wish I could do more.”

“You’ve done plenty.” Abigail reaches over, kissing his cheek lightly, and this one simple action is almost Sadusky’s entire undoing. 

Then his eyes again land on the child’s ball and a zap of inspiration electrifies his bones. “Actually…I might have one more ace up my sleeve, if you’re willing to be in on the deception.”

That fire must be contagious, for now it lights up Abigail’s eyes in a wolfish smile. “Are you kidding? I’ve been known to pull off a heist or two in my day.”

Sadusky laughs along with her and feels the scalding white light swell up inside his heart, driving it to beat faster. And he finds that’s it’s equal parts awe and fear. For he knows now what that fire is. He understands, in one fell swoop, what it’s all been growing into.

It’s not fondness or professional interest or investment now. It can’t be called that exasperated, paternal concern anymore, not like it was in the beginning. 

No, it’s _love_. 

He…he loves the Gates family.

And what, Sadusky wonders while he and Abigail whip up a hurried plan, is he supposed to do with that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I figured it out, see.” Riley grabs a handful of Ben’s rash guard to pull himself closer, still counting on Ben to carry him. “You’re only ever afraid of water when it’s _me_ near it. Am I getting warmer?”
> 
> Either that splash episode has dampened Ben’s face or he’s having a full break because his cheeks glisten in the sun. His face is peanut brittle, snapping under the heat of a truth he’s been avoiding for over a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my dudes. I finally did it. In the name of science™ and writing research—I ate two whole dill pickles slathered in peanut butter. OH BOY it was...it sure was something. I can't say it was bad and it certainly wasn't good. It just tasted like the way a lucid dream feels. And salt. Lots of salt. That's about the best I can sum it up. 
> 
> (Also, sorry this chapter is so long - it kind of ran away with me.)
> 
> Onward to the feels!

“I can’t believe it,” Riley declares, though he does look vaguely impressed after hearing the pickle-panic story. “Fooled by the least likely among us.”

Ben shrugs, still uneasy. “I suppose this makes us even.”

It takes Sadusky a second to get the joke, still lost in the memory of he and Abigail’s conversation, and when he does, he throws Ben a dry look that says, ‘really?’ Jumping into the Hudson to escape FBI custody is one thing but tricking two intelligent men into going swimming? That’s quite another. 

“It’s an intervention-type ruse,” Peter says. “Like when you trick a kid into eating their vegetables.”

“Not a relevant metaphor.” Riley points to Eleanor and her, as usual, interested eyes. She watches the proceedings with studied curiosity. “This tortie eats like a rabbit. She _loves_ vegetables.”

Riley follows this up with a disappointed face, as if his niece is a fiend for having the gall not to like unhealthy snacks. He isn't fooling anybody, especially when she reaches for him with grabby hands and Riley rolls his eyes but obliges, her floaties squeaking against his side.

Sadusky notes that, like always, Riley is careful to hold her weight in his right hand and not his left. It’s hardly a new trend, and Ben has tried to hoodwink him on more than one occasion into using his left. But Riley, despite all reassurances from both family and doctors, doesn’t trust that arm yet. 

“No self respect,” Riley berates, while setting her on his right hip. “You can’t even pretend to be cool like a normal person. Now say my name: _Riiillleeeyyy_.”

“Ahp!” says Ellie.

Riley grumbles. “We have got to work on that.”

“Statistically speaking,” Ben begins, sitting down on a towel splayed across the sand, “it’s a little early for her to be making words yet. Most children say their father’s name first anyway. _Dad_ , Ellie. That’s the word we’re going for.”

“No influencing the child!” Riley pretends to cover her ear, bucket hat and all. 

“That’s cheating, Ri.”

“Is it cheating if your daughter likes my bed time stories better than yours?”

“You just retell her old _Star Trek_ episodes!”

Peter laughs at this tidbit of information, though Riley doesn’t seem embarrassed. Sadusky knows he shouldn’t be surprised by now and yet somehow he always is. They never cease to keep him on his toes. 

Riley sets his other hand on his hip. “Better than you, Mr. Historical-re-enactment-of-bloody-wars. Seriously. Everyone knows you don’t tell scary things to kids before bed.”

“It’s educational.”

“So are tribbles!”

Ellie—also as usual—keeps her eyes on Riley’s lips while he talks, mimicking the up and down tongue, the cheeky, youthful pull of his mouth when he’s trying not to smile. 

Peter obeys the grabby hands too and walks over so the baby can clutch at his index finger. “She’s going to be an academic or researcher like her parents, me thinks.”

“Ick.” Riley twists so Ellie is out of reach. “That is not a helpful tree thing to say, Peter. Talk about a curse and not a blessing. Don’t listen to him, Ellie.”

“Are you calling us nerds?” Ben challenges. 

Riley doesn’t even hesitate. “Uh, _yeah_.”

Abigail sighs but flips her page without protest. “He’s got us pegged, Ben. Secret’s out. Say, Riley…this is Ellie’s first time at the beach.”

Riley glances between them. “Great. Mazel tov. I’ll build a sand castle with her. What’s your point?”

Abigail purses her lips in a thinking motion, though Sadusky can tell by her static eyes that she’s not really reading _or_ deliberating. “It’s a hot day out. I put the water proof sun screen on her. All that work shouldn’t be wasted, right?”

Another of those skeptical, disappointed expressions steals over Riley’s face. “You know you’re about as subtle as a brick to the face, right? I’m sun bathing and that’s that.”

Abigail smiles, tranquil. “Worth a shot and since Peter and I’s plan backfired, do what you like. I’ll just be here but you have fun with your sandcastle!”

One of the kids, about twenty feet or so down the beach, takes a running leap into the water and splashes around. While Ben and Riley visibly jump, Ellie’s eyes track this movement and she lights up. 

“Yga! Pffww!”

“No,” Riley argues, in a completely normal tone of voice. “We are not doing that.”

“Yggrrrdd!”

“You are an insistent little creature.”

Ellie grins up at Riley and bats his nose. 

“And your wife is the worst,” says Riley, walking by Ben. “Alright, Smelly Ellie. Let’s get this over with to make Mom happy.”

Peter forgoes the lawn chair he brought and takes the spot next to Ben on the beach towel. Together, they watch Riley edge along the water, an old quarry that got turned into a lake for recreational purposes, before finding a sandy spot his bare feet apparently don’t mind the feel of. He crouches down, plunking Ellie right at shallows where the water laps gently at her knees, and hands her a plastic shovel to play with. Thus freed, Riley keeps his arms folded. They’re tight, revealing how vulnerable and exposed he probably feels right now, alone near the water. 

Ben, for his part, hardly blinks. His back is pillar straight and there’s a hitch in his breathing, however quiet, that’s hard to miss. Sadusky suspects that the only reason they’ve stayed so calm thus far is because this is a lake—

No _running_ water. 

It’s placid until someone stirs it up, an intentional choice on his part that he’d recommended to Abigail instead of the indoor pool idea, with its gushing slide and reverberating sounds. 

“Are we really messed up that badly?” Ben asks. The words are small and flinty at the same time, like he’s dropping river pebbles one by one onto Peter’s head. 

Sadusky hums in thought. “It’s more how worried Abigail and I are, how much it’s affecting your ability to live life.”

“I knew I should have been helping with bath time.”

“Ben.” Sadusky shifts closer to catch and keep the man’s eye. “This isn’t about Ellie. This is about _you._ This is us seeing a chain wrapped around your throat. Doesn’t matter what the fear is. If it’s crippling you to this extent, then its wearing you down, little by little. We just want to stop that before there’s nothing of you both left.”

Ben’s eyes follow Riley when he stands and steps away from the water, so his feet are back on hot sand. 

“Abigail told me about that story with the dog…” Ben’s voice is quiet, fragile with emotion from watching the two youngest members of this strange family interact. “The agent was you, wasn’t it?”

Peter smiles. “If it makes you feel better, I still freeze up when a dog sniffs at me in the park sometimes. Even a wiener dog.”

Riley’s back in the water now, just his toes, so that he can supervise Ellie’s crawling forays around the shoreline. Their keen eyes track Riley’s halting motions, the way he stops and grabs Ellie back once he’s up to his shins. Even Abigail has given up pretense of reading and set down the magazine so she can watch. 

“I can’t say I’m not angry about this scheme you and Abigail cooked up.” Ben shakes his head. “But seeing how my flashbacks influenced Riley…I get it. I’m hurt but I get it. The whole fever episode was a wake up call.”

Now that Ben says it, Sadusky spies the lingering paleness around Riley’s features, how tired he looks. A lesser version is mirrored on Ben, amplified by the sun screen in places where it hasn’t been rubbed in properly. Combined with sickness, it’s clear they haven’t been sleeping properly. 

“Sometimes family means helping someone even when they don’t want it.” Peter swallows down that burning sensation when it threatens to make a reappearance. “Sometimes the best way to save someone is to show them they need saving at all.”

Ben cants his head, considering Sadusky in a new light, but just nods. He seems more interested in the words themselves, and Sadusky catches him mouthing ‘family’ to himself a few times with amusement curling in vivid shades at his mouth.

Some ducks float in the reeds near the shaded, tree-lined side of the lake, about ten yards in the other direction. Their quacking bounces across the water on this windless day, right to Ellie’s ears. Her face stretches into a gasping, elated smile. 

“Grrrrraahh!” she squeals and treads into the water. 

“No…” Riley realizes what she’s about to do a hair too late. His eyes widen. “No! Hey!”

He scrabbles forward only to do a baseball-worthy slide and tumble in…

Flat on his stomach, up to his ears. He levers himself up on his elbows and coughs out a mouthful of water.

Ellie is fine, of course, floaties around her waist and arms, along with a natural infant survival sense, keeping her arms moving in a windmill pattern through the water. She’s trying desperately to get to the ducks, which only serves to force her into a gawky circular motion. Abigail snickers at the sight, a huge gesture of trust in and of itself, that she’s not worried one bit for her child so long as Riley is present. 

Ben, on the other hand—

“Riley! _Riley_!” He’s in motion before Abigail finishes laughing. He rockets off his spot so fast that it sprays sand into Sadusky’s lap. “I’m coming!”

This might not be the exact truth. He does come—right up until the water touches his ankles. Then he stops, panting. The water, warm as it is, is still cold enough to freeze him in place through memory alone. His eyes dilate out, a faint judder of air leaving his lungs in a terrified gasp. Ben shakes and _shakes._

Abigail is about to rush off her spot too when Sadusky holds out his arm. He snaps his fingers urgently to get her attention and then shakes his head emphatically once he has it.

“Wait,” Sadusky breathes. “Just wait…”

Abigail jumps to standing but doesn’t budge any farther.

Sadusky would be right beside her, ready to contain Ben’s obvious fear, if he hadn’t quickly spotted Riley:

Who now has Ellie propped high on his bad shoulder.

Riley looks…startled more than anything. He’s not even deep enough for the need to tread water since his feet touch the bottom, knees slightly bent so the water laps at his stomach, and it’s a good thing he’d taken off his glasses before entering, since Ellie’s previous escape attempt and subsequent fall has left his face drenched. He blinks at the lake water, clearly nervous, but with a burgeoning hint of something that takes a moment to mature into a certain emotion.

“Ben?” he prompts.

Nothing. Ben just stares at him, then the water.

“I’m okay, Ben,” says Riley, in a velvet soft tone Sadusky has never heard him use before. “See? We’re both fine.”

Ben again makes no reply other than a quick nod, though he’s breathing fast and trembling hard enough to cause small ripples in the surrounding water. 

Riley cants his head. “I’m not scared if you’re not.”

And there’s the crux of it, really, the fact that Riley is only scared of the water due to his already dubious track record with swimming and the fact that he’s a canyon echo of Ben’s feelings. If Ben laughs, Riley is usually right there along with him. If Ben gets nervous about something, so is Riley.

Riley makes sure to keep his head—and Ellie—above water at all times, but he bobs up and down, creating bubble sized waves that keep the smile on Ellie’s face. Sparing her only a glance, Riley’s eyes stay locked on Ben. With his free hand, he undulates his fingers back and forth along the water’s surface tension, just testing it out, trying to gauge how both he and Ben feel about it.

Sadusky finally identifies the emotion written in smooth folds across Riley’s skin—

Curiosity.

“I haven’t been submerged in water since I was sixteen years old,” Riley confesses quietly, so quiet, in fact, that Sadusky almost doesn’t hear it. “How 'bout that? And no, almost drowning under a mythical city totally does not count.”

Ben has apparently chosen to become mute, shoulders still heaving in that wordless spiral, but he’s at just the right angle that Sadusky can see his face and the moment his brows draw back, leveling out. His pupils shrink just a hair, enough for his eyes to flick to Riley’s chest and watch it breathe normally, no choking or distress.

He doesn’t check the bullet wound like he’s prone to, which Peter finds endlessly fascinating.

_Terrorized by a different memory, then._

“A bunch of friends and I snuck out at night,” Riley goes on, spinning the scene for Ben to appreciate, to ground him in the here and now. “There was this party at someone’s cottage and it was a lake, just like this. The water was still warm from the summer day. Also just like this.”

Ellie burbles and Riley lifts her down, holding her out so she can waddle and flap her way over to Ben. Ben reawakens long enough to bend down and assist his daughter in her usual, meandering crawl back to shore. Abigail comes forward and scoops her up. She whispers to Ellie so as not to disturb the very careful, wet hand Riley reaches out to Ben.

Ben, who hasn’t run back himself because he’s worried about Riley. Because he doesn’t want a repeat of past experiences.

Ben swallows and croaks out, sounding almost inhuman. “That’s enough. Come on. Please, Riley, let’s go.”

“I was cool in my high school days, if you can believe that.” Riley continues his story in an upbeat voice, as if this is any other boring, lazy day Saturday and Ben’s behaviour is totally normal. “But it was mainly because I hacked the school’s lunch menu and helped everybody pass computer science. They weren’t really _friends_ , I learned, when they proceeded to dunk me in the lake, knowing full well I’m not a strong swimmer because I never had lessons. That was fun.”

Ben twitches. Some ingrained justice meter sounds an alarm at just this shadowed ghost of mistreatment against Riley. Like he can personally vanquish the unique brand of threat only high school bullying provides, with all its scars and brush offs.

Riley shrugs, stirring the water further. “I lived Ben, both times. Some random kid, trained as a lifeguard, dove down and saved me that night, just like I got you in the tunnel. Just like we’re going to be okay right now.”

He wriggles the fingers on his still-stretched-out left hand. It’s at once apparent that this is an intentional choice, since Riley hardly ever trusts anyone to touch it. Even Abigail won’t pat the limb if he’s not expecting it or can’t see her coming. Only Ben is allowed close enough to bump or stroke or examine it.

Riley’s voice drops, not quite a whisper but gentle enough that it matches the faith token of his offered hand. “Ben, you’ve asked me to trust you in situations that I had no idea how we’d get out of. And you always kept us safe, every time.”

Ben exhales, hard, through his nose, lips so pinched they’re barely visible. He runs a hand down his face.

“It’s my turn, Ben.” There’s a dip around the edges of Riley’s eyes, earnest and sad. “Just trust me, okay?”

Because Ben does trust Riley, heart, mind, and soul and partly, Sadusky suspects, because Ben can never deny his friend anything when his eyes look like that—Ben reciprocates. His hand stretches out, slow at first and then gaining momentum.

Their palms touch before their fingers do, Ben’s big enough to eclipse Riley’s, especially when he closes his fingers.

A minnow fast, darting smile changes Riley’s whole demeanor for a breath. Then he’s back to serious. “Feel that? The water’s not even cold, especially near the surface here.”

Ben nods again, jilted. “Riles…”

Riley quickly talks over him. “And you love scuba diving, right? You used to promise me lessons, way back in the day. You were worried about me getting stuck somewhere with a current. You used to lecture on and _on_ about undertows whenever we got near the ocean.”

“You listened to that?” Ben can’t seem to help but ask.

“Of course. Just because you’re a one-man lecture tour, doesn’t mean some of it isn’t interesting.”

Ben breathes out a strange sound, not even in the same zip code as a laugh but cathartic none the less. Emotion charged with something foggy, like Ben can’t decide how he feels about all this either.

“You can lecture,” Ben’s quipped argument doesn’t match his fretting eyes, fixated on the water surrounding Riley. “Don’t think I’m ignorant of the fact that all the History Channel’s sudden influx of alien ‘documentaries’ are your doing.”

The grin is back, sly and puerile. “I have connections too, young padawan. You never listen to my coding rhetoric, so at least we’re even.”

“Yes, I do.” Ben’s hand squeezes, knuckles white. “You taught me some Javascript last year.”

The water splashes again when Riley reaches up to scratch his nose. Ben starts at the sound. “Uh-huh. And how much of that do you remember?”

“Enough to change all the fonts on your browser to hot pink.”

“Ha!” Riley keeps his right hand in the water, still tracing Mobius strips next to his ribs. “You wish.”

Suddenly Ben’s arm resists, so strong and unexpected that Riley sloshes towards him. “Wait.”

“Ben—”

Though the shakes don’t return full force, his wide eyes do. “I can’t, Riley. I have to get out, please.”

Riley’s back goes taut, straight in a flash, out of sheer surprise. His hand stops moving. “Did Ben Gates just tell me there’s something impossible, outside of his purview?”

The pieces of Riley’s face twist before arranging themselves into a portrait of swift decision.

“Ben—is there a current?”

The man blinks, his hand in a strangle hold now. If it hurts, Riley doesn’t show the pain on his face. “What?”

Riley stands his ground. “Are you in danger of being swept away?”

“Of course not. This is a lake.”

“And is it cold?”

“Not…” Ben swallows. “Not really.”

“And it’s sunny, right? We’re not underground or surrounded by weird little golden statues.”

Ben sighs, suddenly looking a decade older. “We’re not under the city, Riles. I know where we are.”

“Great! Because I need you to stand there.”

“Why? What are you—”

Without warning, Riley flips on his back so he’s truly weightless, and a small cry of alarm pierces through the thick cotton in Ben’s throat. He struggles forward, his other hand joining the first around Riley’s left arm. Riley doesn’t lose his smile, but he allows Ben’s considerable, adrenaline fueled strength to pull him back and upright. He has no hope of resistance or putting up a fight anyway, as Sadusky has personally seen Ben lift Riley off his feet in a one-armed hug when on dry land, let alone water, though he seems to have expected this outcome.

“Riley!” Ben’s voice is harsh out of distress. “What are you doing? You don’t know how to swim!”

Riley looks him dead in the eye, and though his hair, already drying, is sprouting up in a million directions from the splash and he’s wearing _aloha_ red Hawaiian swim trunks and his skinny torso is dotted with a bullseye bullet scar—that thousand watt stare is enough to send a shiver down Peter’s back and it’s not even directed at him.

“So teach me.”

Ben draws back as if slapped, still possessively clutching Riley’s arm. “Are you kidding me?”

“Ben. Look down.”

The response is immediate, and when he does, Ben isn’t the only one struck dumb: Riley is weightless even at this close distance, feet floating off the bottom.

Sadusky finally sees that Riley has been creeping steadily backwards from the moment Ben took his hand. They’ve traversed a significant distance, in context, almost four feet. The water’s higher now, at Ben’s ribs and nearly up to the tips of Riley’s clavicle. Ben, of course, has the luxury of height and his feet still touch, now dug deep into the sediment out of opposition to this sneaky ruse.

“You…” Ben looks closely at his friend, then at his own hands around the now red limb. “Your feet…”

Riley’s smile turns fond. “Ben—I’ve been free floating for ten minutes now, ever since you grabbed my hand. The water’s too deep for my height. You’ve held me up, all this time.”

Ben goes mute again.

“I figured it out, see.” Riley grabs a handful of Ben’s rash guard to pull himself closer, still counting on Ben to carry him. “You’re only ever afraid of water when it’s _me_ near it. Am I getting warmer?”

Either that splash episode has dampened Ben’s face or he’s having a full break because his cheeks glisten in the sun. His face is peanut brittle, snapping under the heat of a truth he’s been avoiding for over a year.

“It’s not running water you don’t trust.” Riley drives his point home with a pat to the hand plastered around his forearm. “It’s _you_ around water you don’t trust, like you’re going to get me killed or some such noble bull crap.”

Ben side eyes him, still keeping keen tabs on Riley’s feet and the fact that he’s bent them tighter so Ben can feel the pull of his body weight under his hands. That he’s the only thing keeping Riley afloat.

“You almost died that day, Riley. When you dove down for me…I saw the way you struggled, how you had to hold my shoulder to keep your head above water once we got on the other side of the door.”

This ox kick to the sternum admission has Sadusky leaning forward, breathless with the details that he’s only ever heard allusions to. Their Cibola statements didn’t cover gritty details like this, the agony of knowing someone might die and the guilt that it might be your fault. The blanks begin to fill in, their standoffish behaviour with federal personnel that day, even while they gushed about the discovery. Their mouths excited but their eyes mistrustful. How Riley hadn’t let go of Ben’s jacket for a solid two hours after they came out and Ben had insisted on having them all in his eye line at all times. 

Riley slips a thumb under Ben’s. That velvety tone is back, something old and musty and achingly familiar, from a time in their history Sadusky and Abigail have never gotten to see. “But I didn’t. And neither did you. Know why?”

This time Ben’s release of air is most definitely a sob, no matter what he’ll try to pass it off as later. “No. I really don’t.”

“Because we trust each other. It’s obvious and it’s a cliché—but it’s true. We’re not going to leave each other behind just because things get hard, even if we have to trick each other into a lake.”

He inclines his head to Sadusky, who tips his hat with that crackling, crème brulee sizzle in his chest.

“You’re not going to get me killed, Ben.”

“I know that.”

“I really don’t think you do.” Riley shakes his head. “But that’s going to change, starting today. Starting right here at this kiddy pool of a lake that we were both somehow fooled into arriving at.”

Ben flicks a piece of loose grass off Riley’s chin. “You blame Abigail, but I think you pulled the wool over my eyes the most today.”

Riley squeezes their hands once, Ben’s fingers tight as a bowstring. “So…will you teach me? Because you’re the best swimmer I know, the only person who’s ever promised to keep me safe and followed through. I know you won’t stop now.”

Ben meets his gaze to have one of those classic, silent conversations.

Riley quirks his brow and says out loud, “Just ten minutes. Ten minutes in the water, Ben. Abigail and Peter are right there if something goes wrong.”

A hush ensues after this proposed bargain, both in the children playing down the beach, Ellie’s burbled chatting with Abigail, and the ducks quacking while Ben thinks this over. He watches light dance over the lake’s pristine surface. It sheens off Riley’s dark cloud of hair, highlighting the even, easy breathing of his chest.

“Ten minutes.”

Riley lights up at Ben’s words. “Yes!”

If Ben, or Sadusky for that matter, had any hesitation about letting this experiment go forward, it’s banished by the fastidious way Riley guides his friend deeper into the water. Ben doesn’t let go of the youth for a second, but the minute he gets deep enough that he has to tread with his legs, something of his usual confidence pops to the surface. His muscles relax, remembering what to do.

For the first few minutes, Ben guides Riley through the motions of how to kick with his legs, how to tread with correct form. He gets overwhelmed at one point, when Riley accidentally sprays water over his face, so Peter changes spots, sitting in the shallows of the lake, elbows propped on his knees. Ben sees that he’s closer and his anxiety loses steam.

“Thank you for this.”

Abigail slides down next to Peter, Ellie in the hollow of her crossed legs. She’s got a foam starfish to play with this time. When one of the ducks swims by, she quacks in reply. 

Peter smooths a hand over the baby’s thicket of curls. “You never have to thank me. I’m grateful that you _let_ me do this.”

“It wouldn’t be possible without you.” Abigail’s own tears flow freely, despite the relief in her voice. “I haven’t seen Ben this comfortable around water since I met him. _Thank_ _you_ , Peter.”

He keeps his eyes on Riley’s frolicking while reaching over and slipping an arm around Abigail’s shoulders.

Once the sun starts to touch the treetops—they end up swimming for over thirty minutes—Ben front crawls back to shore one armed, tugging Riley along behind him like a freighter. They’re hand in hand now, shifted upwards to keep Riley from swallowing water, and Riley only lets go once he’s at ankle height, collapsing in the sand. Sadusky flips his panama onto Riley’s head since he's starting to sunburn.

“Swimming is _tiring_.”

Ben stands over Riley, dripping. “I keep telling you to exercise more.”

“Exercise, as in cardio? Please. Blasphemy will not be tolerated in this family.”

Ellie spots her father. “Huppaa!”

It’s Ben’s turn to light up, shaky and tired as he still is. “That was almost my name!”

“Yeah right.” Riley sits up. He claps to catch Ellie’s attention. “I hope you saw the impressive swimming your uncle _Riley_ did. Riiill—”

The starfish socks him squarely in the stomach. “Hey!”

Abigail smirks at him. “What if I want her to say ‘Mom’ first?”

“The soft ‘o’ is phonetically more difficult to form wit her soft palate at this age,” Ben points out. “Not to mention the lip curl needed for an ‘m’ consonant.”

Abigail deflects the star that Riley throws back at her scowling face. Nobody buys it, especially with the way she’s still faintly crying. “Way to steal my fun.”

During all this, Sadusky has been baffled by the way Ellie stares up at him. He tickles her under the chin and this earns him a hiccuping giggle. Then, because she’s already got the meditative Gates genome, she looks between her parents, her uncle-brother, and this old agent who worries over them all late into the night with something calculating.

Her very first puzzle.

And something alights in those periwinkle eyes that can’t be stopped, a forest fire, a runaway train. Fortitude personified in a familiar, hybrid look.

Ellie breaks into a huge smile and opens her mouth wide—

“ ‘Appy!” She shrieks. “H…appy!”

The other three halt a petty, half baked scientific argument to stare at their child. Ellie can’t seem to stop laughing and their shocked expressions only fuel her mirth, like she’s just pulled her very own trick.

In a way, she has.

For some esoteric reason, the trio looks to Peter for help. He shrugs. “Nobody said her first word had to be a name.”

Ellie seconds this with a squirm of delight. “Happy! ‘Appy ‘appy ‘appy!”

It’s probably just a random vocalization, not really a word, but she’s imitating the sounds Abigail and Ben have taught her, including ‘sad’ and ‘happy.’ Certainly her enjoyment is very real.

Riley is the first to crack, his lips quivering and then he’s off giggling too, which keeps Ellie going in a vicious cycle.

The ash behind Peter’s eyes returns with a vengeance, scalding up through his sinuses and cauterizing all the unstable pieces clattering around inside his throat. This time, instead of tears, the love surges up into a breathless peace. He isn't sure he's breathed this freely since before Katherine died.

He pulls Ellie into his own lap, pressing a kiss over her forehead. “Me too, Ellie. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


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